#1933 #IrishWriters #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
The true faith discovered was When painted panel, statuary. Glass-mosaic, window-glass, Amended what was told awry By some peasant gospeller;
The heron-billed pale cattle-birds That feed on some foul parasite Of the Moroccan flocks and herds Cross the narrow Straits to light In the rich midnight of the garden…
PICTURE and book remain, An acre of green grass For air and exercise, Now strength of body goes; Midnight, an old house
Man. In a cleft that’s christened… Under broken stone I halt At the bottom of a pit That broad noon has never lit, And shout a secret to the stone.
We sat together at one summer’s en… That beautiful mild woman, your cl… And you and I, and talked of poet… I said, ‘A line will take us hour… Yet if it does not seem a moment’s…
Swayed upon the gaudy stern The butt-end of a steering-oar, And saw wherever I could turn A crown upon the shore. I And though I would have hushed…
YOU gave, but will not give again Until enough of paudeen’s pence By Biddy’s halfpennies have lain To be 'some sort of evidence’, Before you’ll put your guineas dow…
HOPE that you may understand! What can books of men that wive In a dragon-guarded land, paintings of the dolphin-drawn Sea-nymphs in their pearly wagons
III Slim adolescence that a nymph has… Peleus on Thetis stares. Her limbs are delicate as an eyeli… Love has blinded him with tears;
Come, let me sing into your ear; Those dancing days are gone, All that silk and satin gear; Crouch upon a stone, Wrapping that foul body up
The host is riding from Knocknare… And over the grave of Clooth-na-B… Caoilte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling Away, come away… Empty your heart of its mortal dre…
THAT civilisation may not sink, Its great battle lost, Quiet the dog, tether the pony To a distant post; Our master Caesar is in the tent
Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-… That seemed as though ice burned a… And thereupon imagination and hear… So wild that every casual thought… Vanished, and left but memories, t…
On Cruachan’s plain slept he That must sing in a rhyme What most could shake his soul: ‘The stallion Eternity Mounted the mare of Time,
WHEN all works that have From cradle run to grave From grave to cradle run instead; When thoughts that a fool Has wound upon a spool